


Though This Be Madness, Yet There is Method In't

by augopher



Series: Let Me Be Your Foil [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Acting Student Derek, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Human, Derek and Stiles Are Scene Partners, Directing Student Stiles, First Kiss, Hamlet - Freeform, Humor and Feels, M/M, Matt is a Douche, References to Shakespeare, Simulated Violence During Drama Scene, Theatre, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-06
Updated: 2015-04-06
Packaged: 2018-03-21 14:26:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3695732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/augopher/pseuds/augopher
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For their final project in THTR 355: Advanced Acting: Shakespeare, Stiles and Derek are paired together as scene partners. Though both are theatre majors, Stiles' area of emphasis is directing and can't remember why he took this class in the first place. Derek, an acting major, has wait-listed the class for several semesters now and takes the class very seriously.</p><p>A ubiquitous scene assignment with an unusual casting choice changes everything.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Though This Be Madness, Yet There is Method In't

**Author's Note:**

> Sort of based on the following prompt from tumblr: "We were paired together for this scene and have to get really touchy, but I just met you yesterday” AU

“Now for those of you who paid attention when we discussed the syllabus at the beginning of the semester, you’ll remember that the final is comprised of two parts: An exam which counts for 30% of your final and a final performance. That makes up the other 70%. The last month and a half of this class will be devoted to this final scene. Please take it seriously. Costumes are encouraged.”

Stiles squirmed in his seat. Why did he always feel like Professor Morrell had it out for him? One time! One time, he joked around in a scene they were running through, and she had shot him daggers in class ever since. For crying out loud, in that scene he was playing Puck. Of course he needed to joke around. 

“In this basket, I have placed various characters and an assigned scene. Please choose one. Some scenes have two actors, some three, a few have more than three performers. Keep that in mind. After you’ve all picked, please locate your scene partners and start working. I have made copies of the scenes up here for you to use.”

In front of him, Stiles watched Matt--ugh Matt. Seriously, the dude was like the world’s biggest douche--make his selection. Stiles looked down over the guy’s shoulder to see ‘Caesar: Act 3 Scene 1.’ _Talk about karma, you dick._

Okay, so Stiles might have been harboring an intense dislike of the guy. Could anyone really blame him? He was an asshole, always leering at a few of the women in class, acting like he owned the place because he was in the acting track, specifically one of the Bachelor of Fine Arts students. They always looked down on the regular theatre majors. Stiles just wanted to direct damn it. He hated the requirement for three acting classes. Why in the hell had he signed up for an upper level advanced acting class? Why? Because he had a death wish. That's why.

In no time, the basket made its way down his row. _Brutus, Brutus, Brutus. Come on Stiles, you got this_. Much to his dismay, Stiles did not, in fact, select ‘Brutus: Act 3, Scene 1’ from the hat, which put a damper on everything. What? So he wanted to pretend to stab the guy- call it a therapeutic exercise.

 _Hamlet. Really?_ Stiles groaned. It wasn’t that he hated the play, well, okay he was not particularly fond of it. The thing was, essentially the basis for  The Lion King, and that was pretty cool. The character just required a lot of skill, and Stiles preferred the comedies. Okay? _Oh look at that, another Act 3, Scene 1. Real original, Morrell._

Still, he sat patiently as other students made their selections, watching, seething with envy at every comedic role chosen. _Benedick, that sounds like so much more fun than Hamlet. Ugh._ He chose that moment to use his phone and look up the scene he’d been assigned, and could not hide his disappointment when he found it. _Fuck my life, the ‘To Be or Not to Be’ scene?_ He always thought the thing sounded a bit like the ‘Dead Parrot’ sketch from _Monty Python_.

Stiles scrubbed his hands down his face and zoned out until Morrell instructed them to break off into their groups. Like a dead man walking, he dragged himself to the table to pick up his scene, noticing that the other copy of the play had already been picked up. He scanned the room, seeking out his Ophelia, praying with everything he had, his scene partner was Lydia, the gorgeous redhead who’d slayed the midterm monologue with her flawless Lady Macbeth. Unfortunately, he found her paired up with a couple people who looked quite excited to perform their scene from _Twelfth Night.  
_

Slowly, he whittled away possible scene partners as everyone found their groups. Where the hell was his Ophelia? Standing alone in the back corner, a guy he’d seen in class but never spoken to locked eyes with him, and good Lord, how did Stiles miss talking to this fantastic specimen of male beauty all semester? A tragedy, a damn Gre- Shakespearean tragedy. _Nice joke, Stiles._ No one else was left without a partner.

“So...um...you’re my Ophelia?” Stiles asked, his voice cracking. _Smooth, Stilinski, real smooth._

“It would appear so.”

Stiles tried to imagine this guy with his leather jacket, murderous eyebrows, and perma-stubble that Stiles just wanted to pet--it was probably super soft. Definitely soft, had to be. _Get it together, Stiles_ \--as Ophelia. He failed. In short, his imagination was a traitorous bastard.

“I’m, uh...name’s Stiles.” He extended his hand, which the guy begrudgingly shook.

“I know. You were amusing as Puck.” The guy smirked. “I’m Derek.”

How did Stiles not remember Derek? He’d only overheard several people in the class fawning over his midterm monologue, the ‘We few, we happy few’ scene from _Henry V_ like the man was some kind of gift to acting. Stiles mentally facepalmed. That was right; his roommate so kindly passed on the flu to him, and he missed the last two days of midterms. Thankfully, he’d performed his the first day.

“Do you want to go see if we can get a different scene?”

“Why?” Derek eyed him, his face more than a little wary.

“No offense, but you do not look like an Ophelia.”

Derek scowled at him. “Well maybe I need the challenge.”

“Okay, okay.” Stiles held up his hands in defeat as they sat down on the floor to read through their lines. God, he could already tell he was going to hate this stupid assignment

 

*   *   *   *   *

 

A week later, Stiles found himself ignoring whatever the hell Derek was trying to tell him about their scene, as he glared at the _Julius Caesar_ group where Matt pranced around like a damn peacock. _I can’t wait till they all stab you._   _Many times, with multiple weapons._

“Did you have history with one of that group?”

Derek’s words snapped him out of his head. “I’m sorry what?”

“Did you used to date one of them, things end badly? Because you are glaring at them like you want to murder them. So, which one is it?”

Stiles cackled. “No, but that would be a much better story. Can I be honest with you?”

“I have a feeling if I say no, you’re going to tell me anyway. So go ahead.”

“Anyone ever tell you, you have judgmental eyebrows?”

Derek deadpanned. “That’s why you are sending daggers to the Caesar group? Because of _my_ eyebrows?”

“What? No. I can’t stand that guy Daehler. He sits in front of me, and you should hear the shit he says. How he thinks a BA acting class is beneath him, and why should he and any of his fellow BFA actors have to subject themselves to us lesser students. Does he fucking think I want to take this class? I can’t wait to direct actors like him one day. It is my goal in life to make them cry. The BFA kids are the scourge of the department if you ask me, assholes all of them, think they’re better than everyone else. Hell, I bet all of them are here on Daddy’s money, which is so insulting to the rest of us who have to bust our asses to pay tuition.” He heard rustling beside him, but didn’t pay attention until he realized that several moments later he still hadn’t received a response. When he looked over, he found the space on the floor on which Derek had been sitting empty. What the hell? And not even like he’d left his coffee and notebook behind to run to the restroom. He’d taken everything.

Whatever. He was an adult. He could continue working on his lines by himself. After all, there was a large chunk of the scene in the beginning that was monologue anyway.

 _Where the hell was I?_ He shuffled through his note cards he’d used to copy down his lines. Ah yes.

         “To sleep: perchance to dream: ay, there’s the rub;  
         For in that sleep of death what dreams may come  
         When we have shuffled off this mortal coil-”

Fuck, he hated acting. He had no idea what to do with this text. He resolved to go home that night and watch the 2009 BBC production of Hamlet online. Maybe that would inspire him.

 

*   *   *   *   *

 

By now, Stiles had watched every damn copy of _Hamlet_ he could get his hands on, including some not so good ones (In his opinion). He’d loved to have said he had a handle on how to play the damn part, but that was kind of hard when one’s scene partner had missed a week and a half of class, not to mention had blown off their outside rehearsal times, that Stiles thought had been going so well. So when he shuffled into class that Tuesday, Stiles did not expect to see Derek sitting in their usual spot, the back corner they’d claimed for themselves.

“Nice of you to come back to class.”

Derek picked at a loose thread on his jeans. “Are you this rude outside of class? Or is it just to me?”

Taken aback, Stiles stared at him, his mouth agape. “What? I think you misunderstood me. I-”

“You know we don’t all think the BA students are beneath us, and we’re not all assholes. If you’d actually bother to get to know any of us who aren’t Matt Daehler you’d know that, but instead you like to generalize. Some of us just really love acting, or see it as a creative outlet because they are shy, and it gives them confidence. Others got into acting at the request of a therapist as a way of healing from personal trauma. My point is you don’t know every single one of us, know where we come from, so maybe you should keep that in mind before you lump everyone in BFA program in with dicks like Matt. To be honest, most of us can’t stand him either. I, for one, think the guy is a pompous ass who made it into the program on one good audition and has been riding its coattails ever since.” Derek glanced up at him. “And I’m just going to say it, I’d really appreciate it if you took this final seriously, because I graduate in the spring. I wait-listed this class for two years, and I am not about to let some inconsiderate guy like you who thinks actors are scum wreck the GPA I’ve worked hard for.” When Stiles failed at a comeback, Derek stood and got in his face. “Oh, and I am well aware I have resting asshole face. Can’t help it. So lay off the cracks about my ‘judgy eyebrows.’”

The guy actually made the air-quotes as he mocked Stiles previous comments. Stiles, still shocked just looked at him, feeling like he’d been hit in the gut.

“Can we work on this scene somewhere else in the building where there aren’t so many people?” Derek asked him. “I’ve been working on my part really hard outside of class, but I don’t think I want anyone else to see it yet.”

Finally, Stiles brain to mouth connection started working again. “Yeah, that sounds- I’m sorry, man, sometimes, well a lot of the time, I have no filter, and stuff just falls out of my mouth before I can think about it. You’re just lucky I didn’t start talking about random stuff in there, like the history of the male circumcision or like I dunno, man, lycanthropy or something stupid-”

“Stiles? You’re doing it now.”

“Oh right. Anyway, is Morrell okay with that?”

“I cleared it with her before you came in.”

Stiles picked his bag up off the floor. “So got an idea of where you want to work?”

“Yeah. Come on.” Derek led Stiles up to the fourth floor of the theatre building.

“Dude, trust me, there is nowhere to rehearse up here. I have spent a lot of time on this floor. It’s mostly the costume shop and wardrobe storage. I mean there’s the lighting booth, but I’m just gonna tell you now, that Harris does not under any circumstances want students in there.”

“Stiles, stop talking. Please.” Derek opened the door to the catwalk for the thrust stage.

“You obviously don’t know me very well, but I am all kinds of frenetic energy with the occasional bout of clumsiness. This is a spectacularly bad idea.”

Derek rolled his eyes and walked to the center of the catwalk which had about a ten foot squared section of space. “This is big enough to work in, and unless you are jumping all over the place like a rabbit, you should be fine.”

“So…” Stiles eyed him warily. “You come up here often?”

“Yes. On the shows where I don’t have parts, I work lights. It’s quiet up here, and the thrust doors are locked during our class time. I….get self-conscious when rehearsing.”

Stiles set his bag down. “You’ve been in here for the classes you missed haven’t you?”

“Well yeah.”

“Look, I know I said sorry before, but I’m going to say it again. I was a jerk. I am not the kind of person to make broad generalizations about groups of people, and that was rude of me. I hope-”

“Apology accepted. Now come on. Let’s work on this.”

They ran through their lines, and Stiles had to admit, being away from the eyes and ears of the rest of the class, not to mention Professor Morrell, helped him be more courageous and really get into the scene. Strangely enough, as intimidating a picture as Derek presented in class, he gave great advice on ways to play his character.

“So what are you struggling with, exactly? I mean, what part?” Derek pulled out his scene.

“All of it. Is he crazy or faking it?”

Derek chuckled. “That’s up to you actually. I have seen performances where the actor plays him both ways.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. It’s part of the reason why the role is so challenging. If you play him as truly losing his mind, you still have to balance the intelligence in his final plan.”

Stiles read back over his lines several times while Derek worked on his little monologue at the end of the scene. About ten minutes later, Stiles finally had an idea. “So what if, I mean, the scene is short so it doesn’t really touch on this, but what if I treat him as initially not insane, but commits to the farce so fiercely that he begins to believe he is crazy, which in turn drives him mad?”

“That’s a tall order for such a short scene.” Derek laughed.

“Not for me really, because that’s like keeping track of only three things at once. I have ADHD Derek, that is every day for me, worse when I forget my Adderall.”

“Well if you think you can do it, go for it.”

 

*   *   *   *   *

 

The classroom Stiles had checked out for the evening was empty except for the two of them. They’d made great strides on their scene in the two weeks since they’d had their little heart-to-heart or whatever the hell it should be called, choosing to work during each class period up on the catwalk. Plus, he’d actually come to realize Derek was quite funny once he warmed up to people; he just had quite a few hardened exterior layers to get through first. It kind of bummed Stiles out that he hadn’t met the guy a year or two earlier. He could see they would have been pretty good friends. However, in the scene, Stiles was still holding back.

“No, no, no, Stiles. You can’t just go half-ass in this part,” Derek said in reference to Stiles’ part from lines 121 to 149.

“Derek, I can’t handle this method acting, shit. It’s not me.”

“Look, Hamlet is being really cruel to her here. Just saying your lines isn’t going to work.”

Stiles shrugged, not knowing quite how to voice his reasons for having restraint in the scene. “I just...I don’t feel comfortable playing it that way, Derek.” In short, Stiles had developed quite the crush on the guy. What? Spending six hours a week in class and at least another ten outside of class one-on-one with the guy could make anyone start to develop feelings for somebody else. The fact the guy was hot as hell only made things worse.

He’d come to understand his lines on a visceral level, had watched countless interpretations of this scene; he knew exactly what happened in it, and how poor Ophelia descended into madness and drowned herself soon after. He just didn’t want to go as far as was needed. Maybe it would have been easier if he hated the guy.

“Why not?”

“Why not, what?” He leaned against the railing and looked down at the stage.

Derek stood next to him--way closer than Stiles could handle at the moment. “Why don’t you feel comfortable? Is it the subject matter? I admit the subtext of violence here is laid on pretty thick. Is it because I’m a guy, because-”

“No, it’s...I’m just not feeling it today. I am a terrible actor. Let’s be honest. Plus, I forgot to eat dinner, and I ran out of my prescription yesterday. The pharmacy was out, and doesn’t have a shipment coming in until tomorrow. So, I can’t fucking concentrate, Derek, and-”

Derek bumped into his shoulder. “Well, let’s go take care of one of those things. You like Thai?”

“What? We can keep working. I want you to get the good grade you want. I’m trying, really. I swear I am.”

Derek picked up his bottle of water and phone from the catwalk. “Come on. I’m hungry too.”

So, that was how Stiles found himself walking across campus with Derek to the Thai restaurant near the dorms while he tried to come up with a conversation to fill the awkward silence. “You mentioned last week you like basketball. Favorite team?”

“Golden State. Yeah, yeah it’s kind of a bandwagon answer, but my dad was a huge fan of them, and he took me to games a lot when I was younger, well took all of us. Me and my siblings.”

“I don’t really like basketball. I’m a baseball guy. Big Mets fan.”

Derek chuckled. “I didn’t realize you were from New York.”

“I’m not. I’m from NoCal. Ever hear of Beacon Hills? It’s near-”

“Chico. No way. I grew up outside Yuba City.”

Stiles thrust his hands into his pockets. What a coincidence. “Did school bring you to LA or did you move here first?” He looked over to see Derek’s face, which was awash with conflicted emotions. “I mean if you want to answer.”

“My older sister, Laura went to UCLA-”

“Oh wow, I bet she just loves the fact you’re a Trojan instead of a Bruin.”

Derek shrugged. “I don’t think she’d care. She only went to college because my parents wanted us all to.”

“I’m an only child, myself. Just me and my dad. He’s the sheriff of Beacon County back home. Must be nice to have siblings. How many do you have?”

“Can we...can we talk about something else besides family?” Derek’s voice broke, and to Stiles, it sounded heavy with unshed tears.

“Sure. You more interested in acting on film or stage?”

“Stage. I like theatre and the distance it gives you from the audience. Something about the camera in my face kind of freaks me out.”

“That’s cool. I want to direct movies. I mean, not that I have anything against stage productions. I want to try those too. I just- I’ve made little movies since I was a kid with my buddy Scott. I like the technology of film and all that goes into a movie.”

Derek nodded. “I can see that.”

They chatted back and forth, eventually reaching the restaurant, where the conversation continued to flow, quite easily, much to Stiles’ surprise after the way Derek clammed up about his family. Stiles understood though. Some people had dysfunctional families. What Stiles was sure Derek intended to be a quick bite to eat, turned into almost three hours of talking.

“Oh God, that sounds awesome. My mom loved roller coasters. She used to have a goal to ride every one in the country.”

“Used? She complete it, because that would be really impressive.” Derek chuckled into his beer.

“No, um… she passed away when I was eight.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.”

Stiles shrugged. “It’s cool I guess. I mean, it’s been a really long time, so…”

“Yeah, but it’s not something you get over, not really. Kind of has a way of creeping up on you.”

“You’re right, but I deal.” Then, the conversation came to a halt. What?

After several minutes of total silence on Derek’s part, he stood up and threw cash onto the table, way more than necessary for his meal. “I...I need to go. See you in class tomorrow.”

Just like that, he was gone, leaving Stiles confused as hell at what had just happened.

 

*   *   *   *   *

 

“Get thee to a nunnery: why wouldst thou be a breeder of sinners? I am myself indiffer-” Stiles stopped mid-line when he heard footsteps approaching on the catwalk. He looked up to see Derek, standing remorseful, with two coffees in hand instead of his usual one.

“You drink Americano’s right? I think I remember you saying that a few weeks ago.” He handed the cup to Stiles.

“Thanks.”

“Look, I’m sorry about last night.” He scratched the back of his head and sighed. “I come from a big family...came from, and I lost them all. Now I’m alone. I don’t make friends easily, because I’m not really big on talking. It’s why I like acting so much. I get to be someone else, which is nice, but I like talking to you. It’s easy for me. Last night was fun. I haven’t laughed that hard in a long time.” Just like Stiles had the night before, he leaned over the railing and looked at the theatre below.

Wow. Stiles had run through a dozen scenarios as to why Derek had left so quickly on him and not once did he entertain the fact his whole family was dead.

“You asked how many siblings I had. Four sisters. Most people would think I hated it, being the only boy out of five kids, but I loved it. Laura was the oldest, then me. Cora was eleven, Hannah and Holly were twins; they were nine. Laura was down at college, and I was on an away trip for basketball. There was a fire. I was only sixteen, so Laura took care of me, which was a lot to ask of a nineteen year old.”

Stiles noticed Derek had started crying a little, but didn’t draw attention to it.

“She had this boyfriend when I was a freshman in college. Just a real asshole, and she eventually broke up with him. He...uh...didn’t take it too well. She had a restraining order, but I mean, you said your dad’s a cop, so you probably know how useless those things can be when someone is determined. Not a sight I think anyone wants to ever come home to.” He buried his head in his arms.

Stiles stood next to him, awkwardly trying to think of something to do or say, settling instead on a simple choice of action: Laying a hand on his shoulder. He gave Derek several minutes to collect himself. “I like talking to you too. A lot of people don’t like me; they find my rambling and knowledge of useless facts annoying. Plus, as you found out, I can be kind of an asshole.”

Though it was muffled, Stiles heard Derek laugh.

“That’s better. You ready to get started on this, or you need a few more minutes?”

Derek straightened and wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. “Yeah, I’m good. Sorry for unloading all that on you.”

Stiles pat him on the back. “Don’t worry about it, and you were right. It kind of has a way of creeping up on you. So, I was curious about your part.”

“Yeah. What about?”

“Well, and I mean at this point I have done extensive visual research, Ophelia seems to always be portrayed quite fragile here, and I assume it’s because it’s a medieval set play, and she’s a woman, so that’s how she is expected to be. I just have a hard time buying you as docile the way she’s written. Although, I could have misinterpreted the text completely.”

“I was thinking the same thing, which is why I was telling you to go there yesterday. You can be mean to me like the text calls for. You said you watched a lot of productions, Hamlet pushes her around, scares the crap out of her. Is this… is this what you meant when you said you weren’t comfortable with it?”

Stiles nodded. “Yeah. I mean, I know for a fact the group acting out Desdemona’s death scene from _Othello_ is struggling with the violence in it. He’s being verbally abusive, and it bothers me.”

“You just kind of have to get in the moment, separate yourself from the character.”

“I’m not an actor, Derek. That isn’t easy for me.” Stiles chewed on his thumbnail. “But… so last night after you left, which I figured was because I’m such an awful scene partner, I went home, and I tried, Derek, really I did, to figure out what I am supposed to do here.”

“Just because you're not an actor normally, doesn’t mean you’re a terrible scene partner.”

“Whatever. So like after the fifth time of running through my part, hopping around my apartment like a lunatic, earning not one, but two jabs to the ceiling from my downstairs neighbor, I had an epiphany of sorts. So I reworked the text. What if you played Ophelia as a guy?”

Derek rose an eyebrow at him. “Why?”

“Well I get that men played the female parts in Shakespeare’s time, but now at least with how weak a character Ophelia is, because she had to be as someone with no power, controlled by her father, rebuffed by Hamlet, and is just pushed over the edge, having you play her like that might come across as offensive. Like a joke.”

“You do realize I had no intention of playing her like a joke, right?”

“Of course absolutely. What would we do about costumes then? Because I have worked in the costume shop, and let me tell you, there are no foundation garments likely to fit you in storage.”

Derek chuckled. “I had no intention of wearing a dress, Stiles. I’m intrigued, but confused why you’d come to this idea.”

Stiles pulled out his notebook. “So on those days you worked by yourself, I learned something about the rest of the groups in class. Four women pulled male roles out of the hat, none of them are in romantic scenes. We have a female Richard III, Mercutio, Brutus, and Titus Andronicus. Three guys besides you pulled female characters but they traded, which is really too bad, because we would have had a male Juliet.”

“All the more reason why I should keep her female.”

Stiles held up a finger. “I figured you’d say that, but hear me out. So I reworked this into a modern setting, switched around some words to change Ophelia’s gender.”

Derek eyed him warily. “Okay…”

“And what if, you’re giving back these remembrances, letters, tokens of affection that I gave you when I went off to war? And I’m refusing you, because I have to. Societal pressures you know? So instead of playing Hamlet as mad or faking madness here, in this one scene, I play him as terrified, willing to verbally cut you off at the knees to save his own skin? It would be different, and you could still play your part how you wanted, which was purely distraught not necessarily frail.”

Derek considered his words for a long while. “Did you run this by Morrell? Because she’s a big stickler for staying on book.”

“Yes. I came to class early today, and showed her what I’d come up with and my ideas. She was really interested in my interpretation,  but it is totally okay if _you_ are not comfortable with this.”

Derek sat down his drink. “No, so long as the text hasn’t changed a lot, because I’m slow at memorizing lines, I’m in.”

Stiles grinned. “I have changed less than twenty words, most of them mine. How do you feel about getting to a friary?”

“You’re horrible.” Derek laughed.

 

*   *   *   *   *

 

Stiles fidgeted in his seat. Two classes worth of performances, stellar performances, and his and Derek’s scene would be coming up next, the last of the day. He’d barely slept the night before, too wound up in a bundle of nerves.

They’d run through the scene at least a hundred times; each knew it like the back of their hands. The funny thing was, it worked, really worked. Stiles’ Hamlet had just the beginnings of madness, an aching hint of it, and most of it came through in his monologue at the beginning as he contemplated ending his life instead of conforming to the rules of society. Instead of a scene playing his mounting insanity up to an unseen audience, it became more tragic to him in the form of a break-up scene. Stiles built up ideas in his head about the rest of the play.

A father, supportive of his son’s affections towards the son of one of his associates, murdered by a jealous brother who saw this family matter as a means to get what he wanted, for physical death was so much easier than character assassination. A son, so devoted to his father, who couldn’t deal with the knowledge that being who he was contributed to the death of his hero, slowly crumbling with guilt, willing to hurt everyone in his path. Another young man, manipulated by his own family to do and say, believe things he knew to be false, choosing to take his own life when his beloved murders his father, after metaphorically ripping his heart out. In the end- everyone dies. Hell Stiles was pretty damn impressed with himself at the concept, and filed it away to consider as an original idea, based on _Hamlet_ the way  West Side Story was a retelling of _Romeo and Juliet_. It all hinged on how the scene was received.

Derek wasn’t the problem either. He was good, truly talented. God, how Stiles wished he’d been in class for Derek’s midterm monologue to see the thing of beauty he’d been told it was. If their scene fell apart, it would be all Stiles’ fault. Though Derek’s hint at throwing a slight curveball into the scene, had Stiles quaking in his boots. Still, he’d been reassured and told he’d recognize it immediately, and to just say his next line in the way that feels most natural a response after it. Not one to be entirely upstaged, he had an ace up his sleeve as well.

Derek tapped his shoulder. “Calm down. We have this. And if they don’t like it, so what. I’m proud of what we've done.”

Stiles nodded and watched the _Julius Caesar_ group take the stage, and holy fuck, what the hell were they wearing? The costume shop had plenty of period accurate togas in storage, and they chose to dress like they were heading to a frat party. _Matt, you arrogant ass, I hope you crash and burn._

Somewhere, there had to be a world in which the level of histrionics being played to in the scene unfolding in front of him was considered good. As it stood, however, Stiles could see how uncomfortable the rest of the group was by the creative direction. He could only assume that most of them had tried in earnest to treat the text with respect, but somehow the abject megalomania that was Matt Daehler overshadowed all of it. What the hell was the man doing to Caesar, besides ruining it?

Stiles chanced a glance over at Derek, who if such a thing were possible, seemed to be groaning with only using his eyebrows. What a cool trick! He must get the man to teach him that.

“Do so. And let no man abide this deed. But we the doers.”

Stiles sat, giddy at the end of the scene, happy to see resident asshat number one get his comeuppance, even if it only came in the form of foam swords pretending to stab him multiple times. Good enough. Hell, the woman playing Brutus looked downright smug to have put the last ‘dagger’ in him.

Light applause broke out as was polite, but he heard a couple snickers behind him.

Professor Morrell stopped the recording--did Stiles forget to mention their scenes were filmed? Well, they were-- and stood. “Thank you. What a stirring performance, that was.”

Did Stiles detect a hint of sarcasm?

“For our last scene we have Stiles and Derek performing Act 3, Scene 1 from _Hamlet_. As with the rest of the scenes, we will take a ten minute break to allow our actors to get set up. If you all could go wait outside, I will call you in when we are ready.” She dismissed the remaining students, just as Derek pulled a thin box from his bag.

“What’s that?”

“Gobos. Let me go get these set up.” Derek hurried over to the back corner of the performance room, exiting out a small door that Stiles knew led to the mezzanine where the lighting tracks were.

“Dude, you lit our scene?” Stiles called after him. “Above and beyond, Derek. You sir, are a prince among knaves.” He waited and soon, the stage was awash in subtle red light; the floor patterned with a cage pattern. “Nice.”

“Yeah, get dressed. Time's ticking.” Derek pat him on the back and grabbed his garment bag.

Professor Morrell had sectioned off two makeshift dressing rooms backstage, and Stiles hurried to change. The reproduction WWII uniform had been used in the production of _South Pacific_ two years before. He lucked out and found one that fit well enough. When Derek emerged from his dressing room, Stiles felt his heart stop for a moment, and a quiet ‘fuck’ escaped his lips.

“What? The suit not work?”

“You look good. This is a winning look for you.”

Derek blushed. “Oh, thanks. Break a leg, Stiles.” He walked to the entrance Upstage Right.

“I know you think you’re helping, but have you met me? I might actually do that, and if that happens, you are driving me to the hospital in that beautiful muscle car of yours,” Stiles said while he climbed halfway up the small spiral staircase that the pair performing _Romeo and Juliet_ had used as a stand-in for the balcony. “You good back there, Derek?”

“Yeah,” he called from backstage.

Stiles nodded to Professor Morrell, who brought in the rest of the class and set up the recording. He waited for his cue, hung his legs over the step where they dangled in the air, and then started. “To be or not to be, that is the question—Whether ’tis nobler in the mind to suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, or to take arms against a sea of troubles, and, by opposing, end them?” He pulled his legs back through the railing and lay flat on his back on the stair. “To die, to sleep—no more—and by a sleep to say we end the heartache,” he let his voice crack on the word, willing himself to make a few tears. Crying on cue, had never been his forte, “and the thousand natural shocks that flesh is heir to, 'tis a consummation devoutly to be wish'd!” He stood and ambled down the stairs in a drunken fashion, uncoordinated as though the words he continued to project were cutting him to the bone. On the bottom stair, he sat. “For who would bear the whips and scorns of time, the oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely,” he wiped away tears with the back of his hand, “the pangs of despised love,” Stiles scrubbed his hands over his face, crossing to center stage where he stood full front, but with his head craned towards the ceiling, casting his words to the ‘heavens.’ “With this regard their currents turn awry, and lose the name of action.” He waited for Derek to open and close the door backstage for his cue. “Soft you now, the brave Ophelio! Adonis, in thy orisons be all my sins remember'd.”

Oh thank God. He’d managed to get through that monologue without crashing and burning in horrific fashion.

Derek moved towards him, his face showing the restrained, barely contained heartbreak he’d infused into Ophelia, well Ophelio. “Good my lord, how does your honor for this many a day?” He reached for Stiles’ hands to take into his own the way they’d rehearsed.

Somehow, being in character, made the gesture feel real to Stiles, and his heart filled with want. He stared down at their joined hands and dropped them like a pair of hot potatoes. Well Hamlet did. Stiles wanted nothing more than to keep hold of them. He took a couple steps back. “I humbly thank you; well, well, well.”

Derek reached into the inner pocket of his suit jacket and pulled out his props, a couple envelopes he and Stiles had meticulously tried to ‘age’ with tea bags, folding the paper several times to give it a well worn, often read appearance. Displayed on top was the picture they’d snapped of Stiles in uniform and photoshopped to look as though it were taken in World War II. Hell, they’d even found a postcard at an antique shop. Yes, they’d gone antiquing. Shut up. “My lord, I have remembrances of yours, that I have longed long to re-deliver; I pray you, now receive them.”

Stiles stared at the tokens of affections, imagining they were in fact real, that Derek was accusing him of playing him, and somehow now, well the waterworks were in full swing. Stiles gave himself a few moments pause to play up his reaction, looking away from Derek towards the audience. Chest heaving, Stiles recreated that sense of overwhelming anxiety he’d experienced more than a few times during a panic attack. He took off his side cap, and ran a hand through his hair. Waited three beats, and then mimed reeling in his emotions. “No, not I; I never gave you aught.”

Now it was Derek’s turn to show emotion, and he did, far better than Stiles was sure he’d just done, but hey, the man was the only actor of the two of them. Instead of just pain and fear like Stiles portrayed, Derek chose desperation. “Take these again; for to the noble mind rich gifts wax poor,” he closed the distance between them in order to get in Stiles’ face, “when givers prove unkind.” He thrust the letters into Stiles’ chest. “There, my lord.” His voice was thick with unshed tears.

As they rehearsed, Stiles took the remembrances and threw them aside as though the things personally offended him. Then he waited for Derek’s facial expression to turn distraught before he started with his verbal onslaught of Hamlet’s accusations, the ones Stiles felt were akin to charges of cheating. Each one, he made sure to spit (So to speak) with more venom than the one before it. “This was sometime a paradox, but now the time gives it proof. I did love you once.”

Derek turned from left profile to a quarter right. His lip quivered, several tears falling down his face. He screwed his eyes shut, and took a shuddering breath like a man on the verge of breaking down completely into heaving sobs.  “Indeed, my lord, you made me believe so.”

Stiles mirrored Derek’s stage position, standing at three quarters left. “You should not have believ'd me, for virtue cannot so inoculate our old stock but we shall relish of it.”

Derek surged forward, grabbing Stiles’ shirt and pulled him into an angry, desperate kiss. Stiles flailed for a second. So this was the curveball. _Well played, Hale. Well played._ After a short beat, he rose his hand to Derek’s cheek, as though Hamlet couldn’t resist him, when in reality, it was Stiles who couldn’t resist. Then, he remembered the scene, and flipped a switch, pushing Derek away with force, wiping his mouth with disgust. “I lov'd you not!” His words echoed through the otherwise silent stage, and he watched Derek, no wait, Ophelio-- _Jesus, Stiles. You are playing a scene. You are not really Hamlet. This is a farce for entertainment._ This is precisely why he could never be a method actor--crumble before him.

“I was the more deceived.”

Stiles continued on with Hamlet enraged, telling Derek to get to a friary, all the while accusing himself of being a vile creature who should never have been born. He poured everything he had into the words, lacing them with such self-loathing that hell, too much longer and Stiles would start to believe them true. On cue, Professor Morrell rustled some fabric around at the side table. Such a good stage hand. “Where’s your father?”

“At home, my lord.”

Stiles grabbed Derek’s arm and dragged him upstage yelling his lines, the other man feigning to struggle. Both of them knew, should he really not wish to go, Derek had about forty pounds on him. Stiles was not making him go anywhere he didn’t want to. “Let the doors be shut upon him, that he may play the fool no where but in's own house.” He pushed Derek to the floor. “Farewell.”

Derek covered his face with both hands where he lay, flat on his back on the floor, and gave a muffled sob. “O, help him, you sweet heavens!”

Stiles straddled his hips and leaned over him, prying Derek’s hands away, moving his face mere inches from Derek's. “If thou dost marry, I'll give thee this plague for thy dowry: be thou as chaste as ice, as pure as snow, thou shalt not escape calumny.” He yanked Derek to his feet and shook him. “Get thee to a friary, go: farewell.” Stiles pushed him towards the exit, with such disdain, it looked like he was trying to throw him out, literally.

Derek folded in on himself, crying. “O heavenly powers, restore him!”

Stiles rushed up behind him, wrapped one hand around Derek’s throat (Gently of course), and used his other to tug on Derek’s hair, yanking his head back. Concealing his mouth with Derek’s head he whispered. “We’re going down center. You control the speed I walk at, okay?” Derek gave him a subtle nod, and Stiles made it look like he was dragging him towards the audience as they walked backwards. Once in the desired stage position, he turned so they were full front. “I have heard of your paintings too, well enough; God has given you one face, and you make yourselves another.” He pulled Derek’s hair and, subsequently, his head back so that it rested on Stiles’ shoulder; he turned his face towards the guy’s cheek. Stiles really wanted to kiss down that neck, but nope, nope, nope. No time for romance. Instead he openly mocked the character. “You jig, you amble, and you lisp, and nick-name god's creatures, and make your wantonness your ignorance.” He pushed Derek to his knees, crouching down beside him to finish his lines with pure malevolence. “To a friary, go.” He gave Derek’s shoulder a nudge and let the guy do the rest, falling to the stage as though Stiles had pushed him. That move took a surprisingly long time to perfect. He stormed off, leaving Derek alone downstage.

Not willing to miss his scene partner’s monologue, Stiles hurried across backstage and quietly down the wing of the theatre to stand in the back. By the time he made it there, Derek had pushed onto his knees crawling stage left, the strongest position on stage. He hung his legs over the edge and sat facing the audience.

Derek rubbed his neck as though Stiles had choked him, and Stiles really hoped he hadn’t hurt him. They hadn’t rehearsed that bit. “O, what a noble mind is here o'erthrown! The courtier's, soldier's, scholar's, eye, tongue, sword.” He sobbed through a block of his lines. “Now see that noble and most sovereign reason, like sweet bells jangled, out of tune and harsh; that unmatch'd form and feature of blown youth blasted with ecstasy:  O, woe is me.” He covered his face with his hands and presumably cried for half a minute, before going completely still. He dropped his hands from his face. “To have seen what I have seen.” He looked up and stared right at the audience, his face devoid of heartbreak. Instead, the mask he wore was an expression of a man furious and unhinged. To Stiles, it looked a bit like the Joker, if the Joker were terrifyingly angry and proud of it. Either way, all he saw was a man with murder on his mind. “To see what I see.” For good measure, he finished with a ‘Fuck you, Hamlet, you selfish bastard’ eyebrow flash.

When he’d given enough time to let the scene sink in, Derek hopped off the stage and walked to greet Stiles at the back. Stiles had been waiting with baited breath for a sign of applause but there was none. So it was either so bad no one dared encourage them, or they’d shocked them into silence. Stiles, ever the pessimist, assumed the former. Instead of waiting for confirmation, he gestured to the door for Derek to follow him.

Once outside, Stiles turned to him. “Your neck, did I actually hurt you, or was that part of the act?”

“No, I’m fine. Didn’t hurt at all. Now, had you tried moving me downstage without giving me a heads up, then yeah we’d have a problem. But you handled that well.”

Stiles nodded. “Good. I sort of just threw that in when I did my run through this morning. Didn’t have time to run it by you.”

“Don’t worry about it. Speaking of not running things by you, I am pissed at myself. I should have asked you if it was okay to kiss you in the scene. That was really unprofessional of me.”

Before Stiles’ brain could come up with anything, his mouth decided to answer for him. “You can kiss me any time you want.” He covered his mouth in embarrassment the moment he realized his words. “Crap.”

“Oh really? Can I now?” Derek asked with sarcasm dripping from his tongue.

“Don’t pretend to be shocked. There is no way you could have failed to notice the accidental boner or two I popped when we were working through that whole straddling you bit.”

Derek blushed. “No, I definitely noticed that. Just thought it was a response to the proximity, not me.”

Stiles raked his eyes up and down Derek’s body. “Definitely because of you.”

“Yeah? I was really hoping that’s what it was.” He took a step closer to where Stiles leaned against the wall. “Did you mean it?” Another step forward.

“Mean what?”

“That I could kiss you anytime I wanted.” Stiles nodded, and Derek pinned him against the wall with his body, his arms on either side of Stiles’ head.

 _So that’s what he'd meant when he said you need to distance yourself from the character_. Stiles mused to himself. He felt the difference in this kiss immediately from the one they shared on stage. In this one, there was no hint of surprise; he was more than encouraged to participate. On their own accord, his arms wrapped around Derek’s waist and held him close. His lips parted ever so slightly as Derek shifted and their hips rubbed together. A warm tongue, not his own, traced the underside of his top teeth, which a)no one had done before and b) Stiles mentally marked down on his surprise turn-ons list.

The classroom door opening to Stiles’ left, broke them out of their kiss. Probably for the best too, because he was sure they were well on their way to a full-on makeout session. Showing no hint of embarrassment at the interruption the way Stiles figured he would, Derek simply mirrored his position and leaned against the wall, letting his arm fall between them so his hand could brush against Stiles’ as they both listened to some of the comments their classmates said on their way past, seemingly oblivious to the pair of them standing right there.

Awed, but stunned silence. Stiles could work with that.

“So,” Stiles started, “would you like to go get dinner with me?” He winked.

Derek smiled. “I’d like that a lot.”

Dinner, as it turned out turned into an all night affair, one that continued every night afterward.

 

*   *   *   *   *

 

Years later, after a long time pitching his screenplay of the full version of his reworked _Hamlet_ ,  Stiles received the green light to direct his first major film. Though he spent months trying to find the perfect Hamlet, he knew there was no other person to play the doomed Ophelio than his husband, Derek. 

After all, the only reason he got the idea in the first place was because Derek had been ballsy enough to take on the role of Ophelia instead of trading it in for something else from the basket. To have chosen anyone else would have been blasphemous.

 

**Author's Note:**

> come visit me on tumblr captaintinymite.tumblr.com


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